“2nd Wednesday”

by Matthew Bendert

--19 December 2001, Paris, France

a last wisp of smoke
slithers mischievously
from the remnant filter
nearly underfoot

hisses smiling past
the rainbow lightstring
and licks at the large Canadian flag
out of place in the chill
parisian night.

through the glass doorway
shelves of books and gray haired
Literature seekers compress
into the nooks
as my wallflower act
chilled back
ponders their serious attention

somewhere far off
grungy americans and unshaved hippies
pour themselves through a
badly amplified sieve
while I stand in the
nineteenth century half-light

of suits and dresses
and the Literature
of ages

and scribble on the back
of a program

invisible

chill like the cold ghost of real creativity
spark, like the last cinders
of a dying tobacco fire
leaping into the night sky
trying to find my
petit prairie blaze
amongst the cobblestone faces:
gargoyles of the cathedral
made of flames turned to stone.